Out of the sultry glare that falls
In shimmering fire on city walls
And gleaming pave, whose tropic heat
Burns dazzled eye and lingering feet,—
Come, where the mellower sunlight shines
On grassy hills and feathery pines;
And, leaving work-life’s busy care,
Drink deep of heaven’s diviner air!
Enter these dim cathedral aisles
No smoke of burning flesh defiles
Where, fled from flame and noise of day
Silence and shadow hide away;
And reverently, with lifted face,
Receive the spirit of the place,
In the awed hush and cooling shade,
And the weird whispers overhead.
Forget that learned clerks have said
“There’s no hereafter for the dead;
That brain beneath the microscope
Shows neither duty, faith, nor hope;
That not one chemic test finds God
In any substance, gas, or clod!”
And, only counselled by thy heart,
Take what the murmuring pines impart!
No lack of odorous incense here,
Filling the balmy atmosphere
With healing for the soul and flesh
And ministrations pure and fresh;
Nor need ye other songs than these
Of quivering leaves and drowsy bees,
So gently on the ear that press
They seem but uttered silences!
Come, worn and wearied! leave behind
The gnawing canker of the mind;
The wrestle of contending creeds;
The doubt some poor half-knowledge feeds;
And the veiled Genius of the Wood
Shall give thee rest, and strength, and food,
And something subtler than the balm
Of pines, will wrap thy soul in calm!
Among the Pines